I have to confess spending my birthday on a training course for work was not exactly what i had in mind and as the dreaded annual ageing event approached nevertheless Emergency Life Support it was to be and i truthfully admit i had no true notion of what this entailed. Two hours later lying flat on my back on the floor, paired up with the only guy on the course i was trying to stifle my giggles as the instructor bellowed across the room at my companion not to be so gallant and ‘watch her chest man, watch her chest’ . Poor guy i expect after a lifetime of being taught not to openly stare at womens bosoms being now openly berated for not doing so was disconcerting to say the least and more than one sheepishly apologetic glances were cast in my direction. i cannot help but find that there is something rather endearing about a man who still has the ability to blush but once the instructor again ordered my now pink cheeked guinea pig to keep watching my chest this was all too much for me and i collapsed into helpless giggles most unbefitting someone who is meant to be having breathing problems of a nature requiring resuscitation. Thankfully things fared a little better when the roles were reversed although my compatriots dramatic touch extended to him holding his breath almost prompting the scenario to take on a more realistic turn. Poor instructor i feel for him greatly, as is often so with a group of women we managed through quips and comments to turn what should have been a most sober occasion into something worthy of a carry on movie and i expect the poor man despaired of ever being in a situation that would ever require one of us to come to his aid although for all intents and purposes we do actually know very well what we are doing and were most competently able to demonstrate this when required. Ending the morning with my lips firmly locked with a silicone dummy really was the icing on the cake as that was far from the birthday kiss i had been imagining and shortly after, tunelessly anihilating a version of heart of glass as i performed cpr on my little plastic friend, i concluded that maybe any victims requiring resuscitation might suddenly make a dramatic recovery if they saw me running to their aid. Bring back Nellie The Elephant thats what i say!!
I’ve always been taller than average girl, even at a very young age visibly dwarfing all my pigtailed fairylike peers. Despite being a very scrawny child i could not lay claim to any illusions of daintiness, infact bearing more of a resemblance to a small boy, a factuality bolstered by the complete golden curled antonym that was my younger sister. My sister was petted and adored, a delicately freckled cherub beside whom i faded into almost colourless insipidity being lanky and pale and never quite seeming to wear my own skin with anything like a vestige of confidence. I could never quite see from which of my family i gained my characteristics, resembling neither my mother nor my father, perhaps being some changeling placed in a nest of golden freckled fledglings, feeling resentful when dressed in blue yet again when i so longed for the pink frilled fripperies afforded my dainty doll of a sister. Thankfully we grow and as i have grown older i have realised that far from being some beauty whose looks decline with age i have infact turned out to be just the opposite, only growing into any semblance of an attractive woman as the years roll by. But despite this i have often longed to be petite and dainty, the kind of woman men like to pick up and cuddle and sweep elegantly off their feet feeling manly and protective. Alas not so for me for despite so many attempts to change my appearance and become some elegant statuesque beauty there was no detracting from the fact i remained more of amazonian proportions. for sure in a past life i imagine i would have been Boudicca or Hippolyta, women more famous for their warrior like countenances. And so i ponder the mystery of genes, and the fate that determines the you that you’re destined to be and each morning as i do my little wriggle into my jeans ritual i mentally curse my parents for the less than desirous proportions afforded me from the gene pool. And then i echo the cry of so many women the world around as i ask..does my bum look big in this??
Yesterday i had the most wonderful day, im not sure i can find the words to define why it was so wonderful nor do i think i want to analyse it overly, all i can say is that the day and the very special friend were wonderful. Being me there were more than a few scenarios that i had mentally caricatured and for all intents and purposes this was to be the subject of my blog today, indeed perhaps at some future point i may actually write about these things, but as the train pulled away i found these were not the things foremost in my mind that i wanted to write down.
I’m not entirely sure i want to write down what i’m writing but somehow i need to and this is something different entirely. Im not really a person that expresses my deepest innermost workings, im a strong person and i find the thought of feeling that vulnerable with someone rather disconcerting rather like trying to walk on water and in the past on more than one occasion i have been accused by friends or potential partners of having barriers or walls that are very hard to get beyond. True? Perhaps, if i’m honest, or perhaps some deeper perception alerted me to the fact that i did not genuinely want the closeness with these people that they were so desirous of. Maybe this makes me selective or maybe the true fact of the matter is that the right person would not have had to ask for the walls to come down, they would’ve been removed all of their own accord.
So for my part i admit i found it threw me somewhat that heading homeward, mentally writing my blog i was disturbed by the image of a pair of laughing dark eyes looking into mine. A scene from my one of my favourite movies Avatar kept popping into my head…”i see you” they say to each other. Most people dismiss this as a visual statement , indeed looking at each other this seems to be rather obvious but the more perceptive of us know that they mean they see the person inside and this is the feeling i was getting. Misconstrued? Again perhaps and perhaps my perception was way off beam but this was the unexplainable feeling i had. But i guess its like the old scenario of suddenly finding yourself naked and your instinct is to rush to cover yourself up protectively and i confess along with a fleeting sense of fear i had a small sense of this also. But the further away the train became i also began to feel a little lost and as i slipped back into familiar guises i couldnt help feeling that i had left myself standing on the platform and the rest of me was floating around in an ocean being swept away with no control over where i was going. But if you look carefully you’ll see im not really waving, i’m drowning
We all age, its a fact of life and for the most part im reasonably accepting of the inevitable despite the colourful belying array of skin care products adorning every available surface in my room. I think the problem really lies with the fact of when you realise you ARE ageing and you really arent the carefree 20 something that lurks inside the wrinkled packaging. This morning i woke far earlier than i would’ve liked after a very long late shift, peered blearily into the mirror and gaped in horror at the little old lady looking back at me. Now it was very tempting to turn the mirror around and see if there actually was some mythical old crone residing in my looking glass, in truth more like i hoped there was but no the panda with the unironed face was actually me! Well if i wasnt awake before that i certainly was by then, shrieked in horror,almost fell into the bath and scuttled hastily in the direction of the nearest ‘miracle’ face cream having found a sudden never before need to pray to the nearest listening deity. I have to admit once the sleep creases wear off and the mirror is turned around to the non magnifying side the effect is a little less dramatic but the thought hit me that very soon that will be my permanent countenance and all the miracle creams in the world will not hide the fact that i look like i went to bed in my face. I pondered the thought of growing my hair as long as possible and pulling it in a very tight pony tail therefore giving an instant facelift and saving myself a fortune into the process but perhaps that isnt for me after all i think i am far beyond the days of ankle socks and pony tails. So at this point i am left with either the thought of sleeping sitting up for the rest of my life or maybe i should just find a wrinkly old man who doesnt mind waking up with a little wrinkly old panda
Do you miss me when i’m gone, do you long to be beside me
Do you call me for no reason than just to hear my voice
Do you miss me when i’m gone? Do you dream that we’re together
And know that here is where you’d be if you only had a choice
Do you miss me when im gone, if you do then do i know this
Have you taken time to tell me or think that i should know
For i find when i’m without you things just really arent the same
So i had to let you know, that i miss you when you’re gone
Written by Smilesalot1969 aka Lilyflower- 2001
After becoming embroiled in the intrigue and mystery of the dating game i wonder if perhaps this is all for me, frequently finding myself disappointed or left in an uncertain state of mind which suits me not at all. I wonder perhaps if my expectations are too high, from a child having loved the whimsy and unabashed romance of fairy tales and quite happily believed in ever after and true loves kiss. Now perhaps as i grew older i came to realise that princes did not after all come from foreign lands to scale the walls of my castle, take one look and beg me to be their princess forever, nor yet did they appear under my window singing love songs sure to draw the attention of neighbours for miles around but yes i still had a belief in happily ever afters and being swept off my feet. Later post fairytale years as a female i have to admit the milk tray man did little to dispel this unshakeable belief and like millions of other women waited with baited breath for some handsome man to vault through my window bearing chocolate. So as the years rolled by and potential princes were proved to be frogs i guess this lady began to wonder how much truth there is in fairy tales after all and am i perhaps too old and maybe a little naive for wanting that after all. And i guess things just arent working out just the way i thought it would, not even a prince in training on the horizon and as for being swept of my feet well i think my only chances of that lie in the path of a force 10 gale. I wonder if men know how to be romantic any more or is it some outdated notion long since left in the pages of a Jane Austen novel with the brooding but irresistible Mr Darcy and the beautiful captivating miss Elizabeth Bennet. So i optimistically vow to try so very hard not to be disappointed if my date doesnt gaze lingeringly into my eyes and be so very reluctant to leave my company and stand in amongst a sea of frogs just waiting for the one thats just that little bit special